


pull my trigger

by FreshBrains



Category: Bates Motel (2013)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Gen, Guns, Minor Character Death, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:38:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1301848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bradley’s sucked cock before, but it never felt quite as good as putting a bullet through a man’s head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pull my trigger

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after 2x01. Contains sexual arousal due to guns and mentions of underage oral sex.

Bradley’s sucked cock before, but it never felt quite as good as putting a bullet through a man’s head.

            She’s a 21st century girl—she knows it isn’t really supposed to feel great for the girl, being on your knees and everything.  She’s read all that _Cosmo_ bullshit about give and take, push and pull, making yourself feel good by making your _man_ feel good.  It’s pure bullshit; she’s never believed it.

Richard was her first—he was all her firsts, none of them that great.  He pulled her hair too hard, thrust too much, made it too messy.  The first time she gagged and almost puked on him; later, they laughed about it.  He went down on her and made her feel pretty good, but _god_ , she hated giving him head.  She hated it.

She would’ve sucked Norman off if he gave any indication of wanting it; it was the first time Bradley ever felt in control of sex.  He was shy and unsure but _definitely_ turned on.  He kissed her hard and sweet.  When she tried to slip onto her knees on her bedroom carpet, Norman squeezed her bicep and kept her on the bed.

“Maybe some other time, if you want,” he said, voice shaking a little with nerves.  It made her feel warm all over, and that’s why she went back and hugged him later after telling him she didn’t want to be his girlfriend.  Norman was nice—at least, to _her_.  She could never really tell what was going on behind his stormy eyes.

Dylan was another story—he was the sort of guy who was sweet and dominant at the same time.  She pictured him as Adam in the Garden of Eden—rough, big, masculine, and in total control of his own world, right up until his lady bit the apple and everything turned upside down.  Dylan looked like he was handling his shit but Bradley knew how stressed her old man was with his job, how severe the consequences could be.  Dylan was too soft for it, too young.  He wouldn’t last forever.

So Bradley got on her knees for him like she was praying, like she was asking God to spare Norman’s cute older brother the same fate that fell on her daddy.

“Jesus Christ, your _mouth_ ,” he muttered, hands woven in her long hair as she worked her mouth around his cock, pre-come staining her lips.  He was bigger than anyone she had before and she took him deep, relishing in the burn at the back of her throat.

She only did it for him once, like a special present.

*

She stayed standing for a long time at the hospital—standing or sleeping, in motion or down for the count.  She was usually on something; always tired and groggy, or else she was beating at the bars to get the hell out of dodge.  Sometime she woke up in the middle of the night and felt cold water rushing into her lungs, saw trash and weeds floating around her limp body, and she wanted to pray like when she was little and still believed, but instead she grabbed her blanket and curled up under her bed like it was a warm cave.

*

            The gun, the _gun_.  She got wet for the gun.  It was the hottest, most intense thrill she’d ever experienced, holding that piece of metal in her hands, black and silver, the trigger like the hard nub of her clit.  She was around guns all her life but knew little about them; she never really cared before—trigger, bullets, barrel, safety.  Chamber, was that a thing?  Was it in all guns?  Hammer, magazine?  She didn’t know.

            She traced the smooth lines of the weapon, feeling the cold silkiness of the metal, circling the ring of silver at the muzzle like it was the head of a man’s cock, like she was bringing it to completion.  But she needed more, so she placed the muzzle in her mouth, felt it cold and unyielding against her lips, and realized it was the only pleasure she would ever need again. 

            Even if her mother hadn’t come in, she wouldn’t have pulled the trigger.

*

            The gun was a powerful weight against the small of her back; it felt protective, like a strong callous-handed man was behind her with his erection pressed against her flesh, keeping her safe and warm in his arms.  It made her feel sexy, powerful, unlike the little girl in a blue hoodie trouncing up to Gil Turner like she knew what to do with him.

            She heard the sharp intake of his breath as she lowered herself onto the floor, the rough pile of the carpet scratching her bare knees.  She was cold; goose-bumps littered her arms and legs.  He was a man, not a boy, and he waited with his hands at his sides like a gentleman, not touching her neck or hair, and she felt an odd tug of tenderness as she slipped her hand into the waist of her skirt and retrieved her gun.

            The look on his face sent a flash of heat through her body, a zing of frightened arousal that send her clit throbbing in her lace underwear.  He still had an erection, and she licked her lips quickly, just once, and pulled the trigger.

            It was like a bright red orgasm—hot, quick, dangerous, and endlessly satisfying.


End file.
